


Golden Goose or a Harp

by LaurytheLatrator



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 19:45:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2241156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurytheLatrator/pseuds/LaurytheLatrator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a time of excess and debauchery, bad decisions can be enticing. For Emma, one such bad decision is named Killian Jones. Though they are worlds away, neither can deny the allure of the unknown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Golden Goose or a Harp

“I do wish you’d reconsider.” Her mother may have embraced the cropped short hair of the new decade, but she retained her generation’s conservative fears.

“I know, Mom,” Emma said with her petal-pink lips wide in a placating smile, “But you know Granny’s is more my style.”

“She’s right, dear.” Her father sauntered in, thumbs in the pockets of his tailored waist coat. His attire was more opulent than usual; though he came from big money, he had never taken to flaunting that fact. Tonight however Emma’s parents were attending a Gala hosted by the Mills, and so they were resplendent in the latest fashions. Her mother wore a gorgeous pure white tasseled gown that swept to the floor. She looked beautiful, even with that furrow between her brow.

“But we so rarely go out on the town with you, Emma.” She said imploringly.

Emma restrained an eye roll. “Now that’s not true. We go out all the time, just not where there are photographers.”

“Besides, Emma isn’t interested in hearing Regina prattle on about moral decency.” David piped up, slinging an arm around his wife and pulling her close. “She’ll have much more fun with Ruby.” As her mother finally caved in and went to put on her coat, Emma mouthed a silent thank you to her father. He stepped forward and hugged her. “Just don’t have _too_ much fun.” He murmured in her ear, and Emma felt a twinge of guilt. Her father surely knew what kind of party Ruby was throwing, but he was letting her go anyway. Not that he could control her, she was 28 and hardly a child, but his lack of a lecture was touching.

“I’ll be careful.” She swore as they pulled away. “Have a great time, and give Henry my love.” As her parents left, the guilt flared again, but Emma pushed it down. She was entitled to cut loose every once in a while, after all. Her parents may have bought into this Volstead madness and Regina’s legion for temperance but Emma sure didn’t. She was stubborn, and the government couldn’t outlaw her thoughts and feelings.

Not yet anyway.

 

* * *

 

“Emma!” Ruby exclaimed over the live band’s ruckus. The brunette latched onto Emma’s arm, dragging her through the crowd of party goers. “So glad you could make it! Come on, let me grab you a drink!” She sounded a bit bent already, though Emma knew she couldn’t have arrived that late.

“Did you invite half of Manhattan?” Emma had to ask, considering the mass of people filling the Lucas’ penthouse.

“Only the ones that count!” Ruby replied with a wink. They came to a stop by the refreshment table, pressed against the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the skyline. “Now, drink-avous?” Ruby asked, humor glittering in her eyes.

“No thanks-avous.” Emma said, leaning against the window. “I can serve myself, if it comes to that.”

“Your folks at Regina’s?” Her friend asked sympathetically as she sipped her glass.

“Yeah.” Emma sighed, barely audible over the roaring jazz. “I simply can’t bear hearing that lady’s speeches. Whenever she talks about ‘loose women’ I swear she looks straight at me.”

“Bitchy, bluenose broad.” Ruby kindly cursed on her behalf.

She smiled gratefully. “I mean, I have to like her, she’s Henry’s mother, but—“

“Oh, Victor!” Ruby suddenly cried out, waving to someone across the room. Turning back to Emma regretfully, she said, “Sorry, babe, I gotta greet this guy, apparently he’s some big cheese doctor and—“

“No, no, I get it.” Emma cut in. “You’re the hostess, you’ve gotta host.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes, now get going.” Flashing her the prettiest, reddest grin, Ruby scampered off to her other guests.

Alone, Emma allowed her gaze to survey the room. Ruby was the quintessential flapper, and so she never did things halfway. The jazz band never seemed to take a break, and the dance floor had a constant flow of people. There were plenty of guests that Emma recognized: Ashley and her bo, Jefferson, August, and Leroy, who would never pass up a party. Undoubtedly she would make the rounds later, but Emma felt too wound up to mingle just then.

Turning her back on the festivities, she looked out onto the city. No matter how many times she saw those pretty lights, New York never failed to amaze her. The jazz beat from behind mimicked the city’s own heart, as citizens everywhere played the same tune.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” A voice sounded to her left. Emma turned, her eyes meeting the profile of a particularly attractive man. Positively tight, Ruby would say. His hair was black as pitch and falling over his forehead without care. Scruff dotted his jaw, but artfully so. There was a lasting scar on his cheek. She could see an earring dangling and catching the light. His shirt was black, loose, partially unbuttoned, and he wore suspenders though his trousers were tight. He surveyed the cityscape as she had and was paying Emma little mind.

Realizing she hadn’t answered, Emma hastily replied, “Yes, it is.”

“Looks completely different up here.” He went on, and she could hear the accent indicating he was from across the pond. “All sparkling and tall. Makes you think perhaps there is a street paved in gold around somewhere.” Emma got the impression he may be talking about the neighborhood rather than the altitude. Something about him clashed with the ritzy atmosphere.

A little intrigued, and no stranger to making small talk, she said, “The brochure wasn’t on the level, huh?” He laughed, forced out of him by surprise, and looked over at her. Emma struggled not to betray her reaction. His eyes were a sharp, piercing blue.

“They got one thing right.” The man remarked, and Emma let her expectant expression do the talking. His gaze took a deliberate dive, sweeping down her body all the way to her high heels and following the same path back up. He smirked at her, so salacious it made her cheeks burn, and said, “American dames are beyond compare.”

In that instant Emma formed an entire opinion of this man. He was a cake-eater, a lady killer, the love ‘em and leave ‘em type. She’d run with enough of those to know they only gave you trouble and a bad name. While, she could admit, this fella was a sight better looking than most, she wasn’t buying.

“Right, well,” Emma began, affixing her simpering socialite smile, “I wish you all the luck in the world finding one.” The man’s expression shifted slightly, and if she wasn’t so good at reading people, she probably wouldn’t be able to tell he was disappointed. Though he knew he’d misstepped, he covered it well.

“Might I offer you a drink?” He asked, shifting closer. There was, Emma realized, a less than respectable distance between them. “Get the night flowing in the right direction?” He all but purred.

The man was facing her more fully now, and it allowed her to scan the rest of him. Well-built, but more slender than burly, indicating a physically demanding profession. His shirt was buttoned far less than she’d initially assumed, allowing the fine hair on his chest to peek through the neck. He kept his left hand firmly in his pocket, and her mind went straight to a weapon, though there was no visible bulge. Maybe not so harmless then.

“And here I thought this was Ruby’s shindig.” Emma responded, filing her observations away and thinking quickly. She had not moved away, tilting her head back so she could look at him dead-on. “You’re hardly the bartender.”

That made him smirk, satisfied in a way she didn’t understand. “I’m the next best thing, darling.” His use of pet names was irritating, the sentiment in that accent pricking her skin. “I can vouch for the punch myself,” He declared, adding with an upward tick of his brow, “Triple X.”

“Bathtub gin doesn’t interest me.” Emma replied, tone and gaze hard.

“A discerning lass, I like that.” He reached behind him and drew a flask from his rear trouser pocket. “Perhaps this is more to your liking.” The stranger offered her his flask, and the audacity of it was enough to make her forget her resolve. Without really considering the consequences, she took it. It was solid and weighty, and she could feel the liquid within swill.

Glancing up at him briefly, Emma unscrewed the metal top and looked inside. Dark, amber, without any detritus, and when she sniffed there was a waft of spices and sweetness. Rum, and excellent quality too. Her mouth may have watered. Never mind that she was a prominent social figure whose actions were judged, never mind that this man was clearly trouble, Emma was intrigued. Casting one swift glance around to ensure there were no cameras aimed their way, Emma lifted the flask to her lips and threw back a shot. It burned in the best way down her throat to settle like an old friend in her stomach. Emma sighed, blinking back memories at the taste.

“There’s a good girl.” The man said, taking his flask and immediately drinking from it himself, his mouth just to happening to land on her lipstick stain. There was innuendo in the way he licked his lips afterwards, but Emma didn’t let his ill manner bother her.

“How did you get that?” She asked, aware her voice had taken on an interrogating air usually frowned upon at parties. That rum must’ve come from the Caribbean, and that meant getting it past the Feds. It was no easy feat.

The man shrugged his shoulder causally. “I work by the docks, you never know what connections you might make there.” He wasn’t lying, not exactly, but that wasn’t the whole story. Emma could always tell that about people, she prided herself on it, hell, she made a profession of it.

But she didn’t want to risk him running, so she went at it by another angle. “What’s your name?” She asked instead, sidling up closer to him so they shared the same air.

He grinned, and he really was something to behold, and told her, “Killian Jones.” He reached out and brushed the loose curls off her shoulder, his fingers slipping tenderly through the strands. Emma refused to shiver. “And yourself, lass?”

Looking up into his blue eyes, with the warmth from his hand lingering on her shoulder, her gaze caught on his slightly pink lips, Emma was about to tell him. But a rough hand tugging on her arm broke the spell. She turned to see Leroy, clearly several sheets to the wind, scowling about something or other.

“What is it, Grumpy?” Emma asked, glancing furtively at the annoyed expression on _Killian Jones_ ’ face.

“Me and the guys,” He grumbled haltingly, “We got a disagreement. Need you to settle it, c’mon, Emma.”

She allowed herself to be dragged away, looking back at Killian Jones. He was watching her intently, and upon catching her gaze, he raised a hand in farewell. “May we meet again,” He vowed, a gleam in his eye as he added deliberately, “ _Emma_.”

Snapping her head forward, Emma leaned down to holler in Leroy’s ear as they descended into the throng of people and music. “Leeroy, do you know him?” He grunted in response. “You’re a longshoreman,” Emma insisted, “That man I was with, does he work at the docks?”

“Pfft,” Leroy blew a breath, “That pretty boy, nah.” Emma’s stomach sank, until his brash voice piped up again. “But we’re East Side, plenty of river around here.” Right, but that didn’t inspire much confidence. Because if he truly was a stranger, and a liar at that, his motives for getting close to her could not be good.

 

* * *

 

“Alright!” Ruby called out from the makeshift stage. “The night is winding down, in fact, could someone close those curtains, I think the sun’s trying to sneak in!” Most of the guests tittered at the joke, however tired it was. The booze had been in steady supply, and the band had kept everyone in high spirits.

Emma had mainly kept her wits about her, though she had several cups of punch to prove to herself she wasn’t thinking about a certain stranger. None of it gave her the same buzz from that first shot of rum though, and her unconscious comparison pretty much defeated her goal. She’d slipped off her heels and danced alone with them dangling from her wrist. Not that she didn’t have offers, but Emma wasn’t interested in entanglements that night. Ruby had joined her at one point, but she had other obligations, and her eye set on that croaker Victor.

“Well, we’ve got time for one more song, and I know who I’m gonna spend it with.” Ruby said, winking at said man. Victor took her brazenness with good grace. Turning to the band, she said, “Let’s make it a slow one, eh boys?” The bad struck up a soothing blues tune, and the dance floor thinned out as the singles meandered away.

Emma was prepared to do just the same, slipping on her shoes and thinking of running out and apologizing to Ruby later, when someone tapped her shoulder. She looked over and froze, her lips parting but not knowing what to say. It was Killian Jones. She hadn’t seen him since their abrupt parting earlier. She’d rather assumed he’d found another kitten to pet and take home. Apparently she’d been wrong.

“Any room on that dance card, love?” Killian asked, and though his eyes were dark with untold possibilities, his offer was light, willing to be turned down. It was that measure of control that allowed Emma to nod. Killian was all cat who ate the canary as he held out his hand for her to take. Staring at him, she moved into his space, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. Her hands splayed on his shoulders as he pulled her indecently close. The chill of metal through her dress made Emma gasp, and she looked down at her hip. In place of his left hand, there was only a well polished silver rigging hook.

“Jones.” Emma murmured, raising her gaze to meet his. It may have been her newfound recognition, but the darkness in his eyes seemed more menacing than lustful now. “Killian ‘Hook’ Jones.” She addressed him flatly. “I should have known.”

“So you’ve heard of me.” Killian said, sounding pleased. “I hadn’t realized my reputation reached further than Broadway.” The tightening of his embrace contradicted his flippant tone. They had yet to sway with the music, and Emma knew they would soon attract attention. She made the first move, circling them and allowing the approximation of dance. Killian caught on quick, and began to lead them in a tight path.

“You’re the biggest bootlegger in Manhattan.” She quietly replied, eyes boring into his in an attempt to read him. He had the impeccable mask of a seasoned criminal. “You’ve got a body count a mile long. Anyone who pays attention knows who you are.”

“You have me at a disadvantage then.” Killian said breezily, twirling them away from another pair of dancers. “Because I know merely your first name, _Emma_.” She couldn’t tell him the truth, not now. This scoundrel could do so much damage with her family’s name.

She rolled her eyes and called upon her steel walls. “Swan.” It wasn’t a real lie. That was the monicker on her ticket, in her wallet, the one she used when she didn’t want to be associated with her parent’s wealth and status.

“ _Emma Swan_.” Killian said it so carefully, as though the syllables themselves were precious. It sounded right coming from him. Emma glanced away, blinking quickly. “I must say I wasn’t expecting to come across a gem like you tonight. You’re radiant, darling.” Though her dress was bright and studded with jewels, it was more modest than most in shape and length. His complement was overblown and yet still her breathing hitched.

“Don’t try and bond with me.” She warned him. “Just tell me what you’re after.”

Killian frowned, appearing vaguely puzzled. “After?”

“What do you want with me?” Emma stressed, and he did look wounded then. His hand, the warm flesh and fingers, shifted to hold her closer.

“That’s a long list.” He said, tilting his head. “And one I very dearly hope to complete. However, despite what you may have heard, I’m no brute. I won’t hurt you unless you ask nicely.” Killian winked, and Emma glanced furtively around. No eavesdroppers she could see. “Should you desire to leave, I will let you, but you don’t.” Emma’s eyebrows raised. His confidence was vexing. “I’ve watched you all night, Ms. Swan. I’ve seen your eyes searching for me. You may deny it, but you do want me.”

In spite of herself, Emma felt her body flush as her heart picked up pace. Her fingers flexed on his suspenders. This man had known her for a single night, and yet he knew her emotions better than she did. Her gaze may have strayed around the room, wary of landing on him. And yet her stomach had jumped whenever she spied black hair or blue eyes, only to be disappointed by a stranger. He had been the image behind her closed eyelids and the whisper between every song.

“Besides, love,” He added, taking on a more sensual roughness, “You’re still here with me.” Killian licked his lips, capturing Emma’s attention. “The criminal. The scoundrel. The rum-runner.” Her cheeks were surely glowing. “The high life has left you few real men to dally with, and you know I shall not disappoint.” The song was reaching its crescendo. “You and I, we’re inevitable, so the only question is,” Killian leaned in, and Emma held still, and his breath whispered over her lips, and he all but growled, “Cash or check?”

The band hit the last note, and applause rang out all around them. Neither Killian nor Emma moved. Emma’s body was singing, rejoicing where they touched. His eyes, those damnably blue eyes, held challenge and promise. Though in that moment she wanted nothing more than to throw herself with abandon into this man and all he entailed, Emma’s better sense won out.

“Sorry pal,” She told him softly, “Bank’s closed.” It was easy to step back then, his arms slipping away as if he’d never tried to hold her in the first place, but with every stride she put between them, Killian ‘Hook’ Jones took up a larger space in her mind. It could not be, but she thought there was a murmur following her outside as she went to hail a cab.

_Good bye, Emma Swan._

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea a while ago, and I finally wrote it during a long plane ride. I have an elaborate casefic idea for this story, and once I finish _Hell or High Water_ I might write it if there's a demand.
> 
> My favorite discovery was the 20's euphemism for kissing. It's such a witty way of phrasing it.


End file.
